


Melancholic Sonata

by TheDreamSeller



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDreamSeller/pseuds/TheDreamSeller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every time Kanda passed in that alleyway, he saw the white haired kid playing yet another soundless melody, and all he could hear was the metalic sound of coins falling into an empty can by the kid's</p>
            </blockquote>





	Melancholic Sonata

**Sing me the lyrics of a Rotting World.**

The first time Kanda saw him, his heterochromatic hands, left half-bare by a pair of fingerless gloves, were dancing on black and white keys.  
People had crowded around his old piano, and old women were cooing about how they had never heard Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, even Wagner, being played that well.  
The music that danced in the air was beautiful, they said.  
The music that danced in the air was perfect, they agreed.  
And that young boy was oh so talented that they could have kept on listening to his playing the whole day, they sweared, but somehow, after he was done with one song, they still left him.  
Sometimes their goodbye was muttered to the wind, sometimes to the white haired boy himself. Most of the people who wished him luck even smiled because, of course, they were polite people. But, in the end, all that remained of their presence was the metallic sound of coins falling into an empty can that would, for a few seconds, fill the silence. Then their face would leave the young boy’s mind forever, and he would proceed to play yet another melancholic symphony.  
At the time, Kanda remembers, it was snowing. Big snowflakes were falling from a monochromatic sky and, even thought everyone was telling him that that those melodies were beautiful, silence was all he could hear.  
That music was not special to him, neither was it beautiful. It just didn’t exist.  
And maybe it was because the sound of that piano was non-existent to him, that the first time he saw that boy, instead of focusing on his music, his attention was caught by his white hair, grey eyes and red lips.  
And maybe it was because all he could hear were the people chatting and the children laughing, that he noticed the sadness in that kid’s smile and the bitterness in his expression every time someone smiled at him and wished him a Happy Christmas.

If nowadays you’d ask Kanda why he’d waited for the alleyway to empty itself and for the strange kid to start putting his things away before heading God-knows-where, he’d tell you that he was curious. Curious to see why that poor kid, at his young age, was playing an oddly expensive old grand piano in the middle of the street, wearing only some old, faded in colour, yet clean, Lord like clothes.  
But the truth is that he really has no idea why he spent hours under the falling snow, waiting for the kid to disappear and getting the art supplies that he was carrying wet in the process.

* * *

The second time Kanda saw him, it was in a similar situation as the first time. Only, this time, he had gone shopping with Lenalee. She, apparently, thought that they  _absolutely_ needed to get the Baka Usagi an appropriate gift, because it had never been heard of best friends not being able to get each other awesome presents. Yeah, right. Fuck it. He had never agreed with being the Redhead’s friend in the first place, let alone being his  _best friend._ And now he even had to get him a  _fucking present.  
_ Life sucks when you aren’t the only living being on earth.

Allen- this, Lavi had told him, was the kid’s name-was still there. In the same spot which Kanda had seen him leave five days before, playing those same old melodies that he wasn’t able to hear. His gloves were still the same, just like his black jacket and pants were. His face, that should have been the picture of youth itself, was marred by a scar that went from his left cheek to his forehead, cutting right through his left eyelid.  
Now that he could see him from a few meters distance, and not from the other side of the street, he could see how his lips were slightly parted and how he was slightly shivering. How his eyes were glazed over and how his pale skin was decorated by small sweat beads even in the cold December air.  
"The kid’s going to pass out" he mumbled to himself, but when, after a few hours, they came back Allen was still there, playing, and everyone was clapping and admiring him as usual.  
"Isn’t he talented?" Lenalee said, in awe.  
" Che."  
"It’s so sad that such a young kid has to play on the streets to live, isn’t it, Kanda?"  
" Maybe. "

He covered himself a little more, it really was freezing.  
"Give me your scarf" Lenalee said.  
" What the fuck? Have you gone insane?"  
"No,- she smiled- thank you. I’m perfectly sane, now give me your scarf, would you?"  
"Like hell, fuck it. It’s freezing. Why do you even want my scarf? You have your fucking own!"  
The girl had gone nuts, he was sure. But when she looked at him, and then looked the white haired kid, and then looked at him once again he came to the conclusion that no, she was not nuts, she was just a woman. And as such took pity in the Moyashi-as he had nicknamed the kid, who looked like a bean sprout-’s condition.  
"Take your fucking scarf" he mumbled, before throwing his warm blue piece of clothing at her.  
"Thank you!" she beamed, and hugged him, before running to the Moyashi and handing him  _his_  scarf. She pointed to Kanda and he could see the pianist turn his head to look at him before smiling, and accepting the indument with shivering hands.  
Maybe it was just Kanda’s impression, but when the Moyashi put the scarf on, something, in his eyes, changed; as if he, by accepting the gift, had turned a little less lonelier and as lonely as possible at the same time. As if, by wearing the gift, he had felt warmth and love. And loneliness. Because warmth and love, of course, were nothing more than bittersweet illusions.

* * *

It was already past midnight when Kanda saw him the third time. He had been working ‘till late; the painting he was working on had to be finished in a few days, and it would have already been ready, had it not been for the fact that the Usagi just couldn’t mind his own business and just  _had_ to give him advice about how it was too dark, with too much red, and how the person in the center of the painting really reminded him of Allen. At first, Kanda had ignored all that nonsense, but somehow he had not been able to shake the thought off his mind that yes, the guy in the center of the painting, resembled the Moyashi. A lot. The Moyashi, with a blue scarf.  
So he had had to start the painting over again.  
It was the 23rd December, Kanda can remember it well. He remembers it because it was the first time he didn’t notice the pianist because of his looks, but because of a sad melody that lingered in the air.  
A sad melody that Kanda had never heard before.  
Granted, Kanda wasn’t an expert when it came to classical music, but somehow this melody, unlike all the other ones he had heard the kid play, which were just so distant and silent, seemed to be alive.  
Alive with sadness, loneliness and hurt. But alive, nonetheless. It had the scent of winter, and the taste of those sad times when you’re out in the cold, and while seeing the lights shining through the windows you realize that you have nowhere to come back to. No one waiting for you at home.  
You’re concrete, there. But still invisible. Because how much of a being can you be, if no one knows who you are?  
What kind of person can you be, if no one cares for you?  
You can’t be a person. You can’t be anyone. Because there isn’t anyone you can be someone for.

The melody was bitter on the tongue and sad in the heart, light in the air and heavy inside. It was, and at the same time it wasn’t. And had Kanda not seen the little person playing, he wouldn’t have believed his ears. Had Kanda not seen the kid, he might’ve thought that it was all an illusion.  
But Allen was there, thin as ever, almost disappearing in the navy blue wool wrapped around his throat and neck. His trembling hands were playing and, even though there were no tears streaming down his face, Kanda knew he was crying.  
Inside, in a very private way, impossible for the world to see, the kid was crying. Desperately, with all his might. And Kanda knew that, maybe, he would’ve screamed, but not being brave enough to scream, he played.  
He played notes that, as cruel as it was, were beautiful. Enchanting. Magic. Just like the memories of lotus flowers and sakura blossoms. Just like the fading light at sunset.  
The music floated in the air, the music danced. The music screamed and, eventually, the music came to an end. The magic vanished and the Japanese man was left wondering where all those magic threads, that had filled the air only a few seconds before, had gone. But they were illusions and, as such they weren’t there. And, suddenly, neither was Allen.

* * *

Christmas passed, and with Christmas disappeared also the white haired pianist.  
Sometimes, when he passed in the now empty alleyway, Kanda would wonder where the Moyashi had gone, of why he had left. Sometimes, he even would wonder if he had really existed, since no one seemed to talk about him or miss him. Nobody recalled his songs, and nobody asked anyone where he was. Nobody was concerned that he had disappeared; it was almost as if the kid had never existed. He had even asked Lavi once, but he had only started laughing. Now, Kanda swears to God that, had Cloud not been so nice and had she not whacked her husband in the head and told the Japanese that yes, of course, there had been someone very young playing the piano during the Christmas holidays, he would have killed the rabbit then and there. With the clock ticking by his last minutes.

Clocks. Time.  
Clock equals time. Clocks have always equaled time in Kanda’s mind.  
But time is a cruel thing, and the first thing that started fading was the pale colour of  _his_  skin.  _His_  clothes followed suit. And still, time kept passing.

January came to an end. And so did February.

Kanda had almost totally forgotten the pianist when, one day, while he was leaving his studio, he saw white hair and mercury eyes standing under the blooming sakura tree.  
 _His_  lips were parted, and even though it wasn’t as cold anymore and only a light breeze ruffled Kanda’s long hair,  _he_  was wearing a scarf.  
A navy blue scarf.  
Kanda’s scarf.  
That time, he now remembers, was the first time he heard Allen’s voice.  
" Hello" he said. He was blushing, fiddling with his gloves. Kanda ignored him.  
"I said "hello"" he repeated.  
"I heard you, I’m not deaf." grunted the Japanese man. "So what?"  
" When someone greets you, you’re supposed to greet back."Allen replied, his brows furrowing in confusion and irritation.  
"And when someone shoves you off a cliff you’re supposed to shove him twice as hard and kill him, if you’re still alive. So what?"  
The Moyashi - he really looked like a bean sprout- ran a hand through his hair.  
"You really aren’t a polite person, are you?"  
"No shit, Sherlock."  
Then Kanda turned on his heels, and he was about to go back to his studio when he felt something tug at his sleeve. He didn’t turn back.  
"I-came the crystal like voice- I just wanted to give you this back. You know, I’m.. I’m sorry. It was very nice from you"  
He felt something soft against his and, when he turned, he saw the kid handing him his neatly folded scarf.  
"Keep it" he mumbled  
"Pardon? I’m afraid I haven’t heard you.  
" I said" Kanda grunted out "fucking keep it."  
Allen was stunned.  
"B-But it’s yours" he protested.  
"I know" he sighed, the wind was getting chillier and the scent of flowers filled the air "But you need it more than I do" and that said, he turned and left, only wishing to be at his studio soon.  
He had been walking for around three minutes when he heard the loud tapping of feet against the concrete and someone panting just a few meters behind him screaming: “Wait! Excuse me, sir, wait!”  
Kanda didn’t stop. He quickened his pace and tried to ignore the nerve wrecking screaming that was coming from behind him.  
"Stop, please!" the voice cried again. He didn’t stop. He had already wasted too much time on that… on that  _nuisance_.  
Suddenly something grabbed his arm and, before Kanda could realize what was going on, his back had hit the concrete and he was lying on the ground, the stupid Moyashi on top of him, panting.  
"What the fuck?" he screamed.  
"I- the moyashi panted- I just wanted-pant-to-pant-thank you." pause.  
" I mean- Allen blushed- I just… I just wanted to know if there might be a way to show you my gratitude. Just ask for something, anything sir, and-the kid was now sitting- really, I would do anything to thank you!"  
Pause, again.  
"Of course, within of my possibilities, which I realize is not much, but.."  
By now, the kid was blushing like mad and Kanda wasn’t even angry anymore. He was just… confused. And the kid, even thought he was too light for his age, but still weighted more or less fifty kilos, was sitting on his stomach.  
"For once- he said, pinching the bridge on his nose- could you please get off me? That would really be _nice._ ”  
Allen blushed an even deeper shade of red and tried to get up, somehow stumbling and falling right next to the older man. Kanda only glared at him.  
"I’m sorry" he muttered, and then there was silence.  
One of those awkward silences that do not allow you to hear the little sounds of nature around you, and one of those silences that make you feel nervous and unable to form coherent sentences.

It was exactly one of those silences that Kanda broke:  
"Play for me"  
"Pardon, what?" replied Allen, whose mind had been too caught up in not doing anything to upset the Japanese to pay attention.  
"I said- Kanda repeated – Play for me.  
It’s the only way I’ll accept for you to show me your gratitude.”

The kid stared at him, stunned; what had the man said? Had he really heard right?  
"I’m sorr…", a glare. The rumor of swallowing. Deep breaths to calm himself down.  
"O-of course" Sighing. "I don’t have a piano right now but, of course I can play for you."  
"There’s one in my studio, you can play there" And suddenly, navy blue eyes were staring at him.  
"Okay. What would you like me to play for you? I can play anything, from Beethoven to-"

"Let that shit be, that’s nonsense." This white haired moron was making him get a headache.  
"I want you to play real music for me. I don’t want you to play some old death person’s music. That kind of melodies may have been beautiful played by the persons that composed them, but, played by other people, they are just fake imitations. Aren’t you musicians the ones that go around talking shit about music and feelings? What kind of feeling could you even put in something that doesn’t belong to you?"  
"-but"  
"I want you to play for me. I want you to play for me something that you composed yourself."

Gray eyes were staring at him. Red lips didn’t know what to say. Beautiful flowers danced in the March wind and when Allen smiled, nodded, and took the hand that an already standing Kanda was offering, albeit only because now he somehow felt he  _had_  to be polite, he only said:  
"By the way, I’m Allen Walker."  
"Kanda Yuu, but call me Kanda."

_I’m sorry, my Love, but I’d rather sing you the lyrics of how our love began._

  



End file.
